Sometimes
by Amarxlen
Summary: Sometimes she draws, and sometimes she destroys, and sometimes he listens, and sometimes he imagines. Sometimes they act in ways you'd least expect. A collection of Kingdom Hearts drabbles.
1. Like Dreaming

_"But who can decide what they dream?  
__And dream I do..."  
__-Taking Over Me; Evanescence_

_Like Dreaming_

And she half listens as they tell her about what happened while she was comatose, as they had put it, and she reasons that it should have been like falling asleep and then waking up on a night when you haven't dreamed. That it should have been all darkness, all nothing, because, as they've told her so many times it's now constantly playing underneath her skin, she had no heart during that era. Only, they don't call it an era, because it all went by so fast, unlike the dragging pastel stained visions she saw.

In a way, it was like dreaming, like dreaming of loneliness personified and given blond hair and blue eyes that matched hers, and she can't help but feel a kinship to this girl, whose fingers are blemished with the colors of the wind dyed with rainbows. This girl who radiates nothingness along with the overwhelming feeling of loneliness, alone in a white room, bright, and pale and oozing _nothing_ and Kairi never thought she'd be sick of white, but she is. This girl was dressed in white too, but it was a white faceted with the same wind rainbow colors that coated her fingers, and lived beneath her fingernails. It was a peaceful kind of white and when Kairi found she couldn't look around the room for one more second she would turn her attention to the girl, distracted and contented by the multi-hued white.

And that was when she would notice the sketchbook lying open in the girl's hands, clenched tightly like a lifeline, which Kairi had no doubt it was. The charcoal, or pastels, or crayons, or colored pencils would always drift across the paper, lingering in places and feather brushing others and Kairi was always fascinated by this. She would feel her fingers start to twitch in longing to lift up an implement and put her soul down on paper next to this girl's, and she had a feeling that it would be eerily similar to the blonde's. And then she would realize what she was seeing, and shock would fill her, followed by warmth flowing through to her toes and her nose and her fingertips and laughter would bubble up in her throat. Because it was her home she was seeing, it was the islands and then she would feel a longing so powerful she put a hand to her chest as if that could stop the pain, and jerked her eyes away to the nothing walls.

It was always the same, but it felt so new every time, the painful longing and disgust of the white nothing walls. It felt so good to wake up, so refreshing for a split second before she realized what was happening in front of her eyes. But now that she has time, now that they're free, that they're home, that they're safe and sound and back where they belong, now she wonders on what happened to that girl, because she can feel that this girl is _real_, _knows_ that she's out there somewhere. And sometimes, when she's back in class, wondering how they went from saving worlds to being ordinary high school students, sometimes her hand twitches with the familiar desire to put her soul on paper, and sometimes she allows it, and watches as blank walls and a small girl gripping her sketchbook come into being.

It was a lot like dreaming, Kairi reasons, like dreaming of nothingness personified, except there's _so much_ there that it's impossible she's merely nothing, _so much_ that it fills blank page upon blank page with ideas, with soul, with heart. And maybe, Kairi reasons, maybe it wasn't dreaming at all.


	2. Rainbow Shard Oblivion

_"It never was and never will be  
__You're not real and you can't save me  
__Somehow now you're everybody's fool."  
__-Everybody's Fool; Evanescence_

_Rainbow Shard Oblivion_

And sometimes her crayons break because she's gripping them too tightly in her tiny hands, but she can't help it, because they're something solid and real, unlike the fantasies on paper she keeps safe from prying eyes, desires locked in white boxes with blackened chains.

When this happens, she watches the shattered fragments fall to the pristine white floor and when they've all rolled to a stop, she continues to stare before she looks at her hand, which is now stained a multitude of colors because this isn't the first crayon she's broken, and she knows it won't be the last.

Now she stands, deliberately sets aside her sketchbook and presses her tiny foot purposefully on the shards of crayon, because they're like herself and it seems only fitting they're crushed to dust just like she was. Only they're so different from her that she envies them, because they're real and solid and it makes her feel just a little bit better to turn them into oblivion. And it helps her rest just a little bit easier to stain the floor like she is, makes the room just a little bit bigger.

Because now they're the very same, the crayon, the marred floor, the walls plastered with fantasies as memories, and at the core of it all, the witch girl that never was and never will be.


	3. Haunted

_"Long lost words whisper slowly to me  
Still can't find what keeps me here  
When all this time I've been so hollow inside  
I know you're still there."  
-Haunted; Evanescence_

_Haunted_

He may not be able to see, but he can still hear, each sound resonating against his eardrum, magnified a thousand times to make up for his lack of sight. And sometimes, in fact, most of the time he doesn't like what he hears.

He hears the orders of a green tinged witch, and he hates how his fingers twitch to fulfill that order. He hates to realize how much she made him feel important, though Sora was the real hero and he was just a puppet on a string.

He hears the whispers of a man painted amber but seeped in darkness and hates how difficult it is to keep on this path, the Way to Dawn, and not fall hard and fast to his old path. He hates to admit that the path of Darkness seems like an old friend, rather than a strong and formidable enemy.

He hears other things too (_I hear I was Ansem_), things he's sure King Mickey would tell him are the whispers of the worlds (_yeah, right_), that is, if he ever decided to tell the King. But he's no fool, and despite the incredible and impossible things he's seen in the past two years, he knows that hearing voices is never a good thing.

So he keeps to himself the silent whispers, gently breathing nonsensical phrases even though sometimes he starts to fulfill the witch's orders, or bend to the whispers of the amber painted man.

He sometimes answers, and he always tries to ignore them, but he can't stop the single thing gnawing at where he assumes his heart is, blackened as it's become. _I hear I was Ansem._


	4. His Reflected Shadows

_"Lost in a dying world, I reach for something more  
__I have grown so weary of this lie I live  
__I've woken now to find myself  
__In the shadows of all I have created."  
__-Away From Me; Evanescence_

_His Reflected Shadows_

And sometimes, he likes to pretend, likes to imagine that he can actually _feel_ emotions, rather than shadows reflected at him through cloudy surfaces. Sometimes he likes to pretend that he can pull off a blindfold so that he can actually _see_ the colors of the world, rather than dulled shades of gray in a concrete jungle. Sometimes he likes to pretend that he can pluck out a pair of earplugs so that he can actually _hear_ the noises of the world, rather than the simple pattering of rain or the echoing of boots on metallic surfaces.

He likes to imagine what anger would feel like, trying to imagine those shadows a thousand times more prominent, the world practically bathed in red behind seething blue eyes. He wishes that when Axel pulls a practical joke on him, he could actually _be_ irritated with the man, rather than apathetically resigning himself to the mess he has to clean up.

He likes to imagine what happiness would feel like, trying to imagine those whispers a thousand times multiplied, everything bright, and warm, and practically _oozing_ sunshine. He wishes that when Demyx makes a fool of himself and then pouts at them that he could give a _really_ hearty laugh, one that comes from the center of his being, rather than the hollow mockery of a chuckle he gives.

He likes to imagine what sadness would feel like, trying to imagine those undertones a thousand fold, everything dark, cold, gloomy, when it feels like darkness is around every corner. He resents that this is so close to the life he's living now, because The World That Never Was _is_ dark, and the simple pattering of the rain slides off his leather cloak, but he can still see that his breath is coming in white puffs, the only sign of life he can give. It _is_ gloomy and darkness is _literally_ around _every_ corner. So even though he likes to imagine sadness, he likes to imagine anger and happiness so much more.

His favorite thing to imagine, and also the most difficult to imagine, is love, trying to imagine those tingles a thousand times over, his whole body feeling like it's going to float away and the only thing keeping him tethered to this wretched reality, made infinitely less wretched by the person he loves. He wishes that he could actually _feel_ this when Axel kisses him, when Axel whispers words meant only for him.

But he can't feel these things, only shadows reflected at him through cloudy surfaces and he hates it. He hates that he can only pretend, can only imagine. And he hates that this hate isn't even _proper_ hate, because he can't really say he's felt the genuine flames licking at his insides and the nearly uncontrollable urge to hit something.

And sometimes when pretending isn't enough, he turns to Axel or the Heartless, relishing the feeling of nails through his skin. But sometimes, even this isn't enough.


	5. Footprints

_"I'll believe  
All your lies  
Just pretend you love me  
Make believe  
Close your eyes  
I'll be anything for you."  
-Anything for You; Evanescence_

_Footprints  
Amarxlen_

_Forever,_ he says, only it's all footprints in the sand; there and gone—but did it ever exist?

_Always,_ he promises, only it's all sunshine on a cloudy day; a paradox to puzzle over.

_Promise,_ he lies, only it's the calm eye of the hurricane that lingers on the horizon; a dark patch of deception.

_Temporary,_ he whispers, only it's all hollow noises ringing in empty spaces; monsters lurking out of sight.

_Never,_ he means, only it's all silence and echoes of cold rain dripping; listen closely or you'll miss it.

_I'm sorry,_ he tries, only it's white noise in the background; tuned out and turned down—fading away.

But no one gave you a dictionary for analyzing lies, and they don't teach that in school. You don't know, you can't tell, _it's not real._

So you'll believe; _forever always promise_—and place your footprints in the sand.


End file.
